


the perks of being short

by whaliiwatching



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Family Fluff, Height Differences, M/M, Teasing, and for donald and scrooge to be happy & love each other, glomscrooge has been married for a long time now, just a fluffy happy funny drabble like we all deserve, look i just want flinty & scroogie to be in love, the fluffiest fluff with a dash of angst and immediate comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22906144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whaliiwatching/pseuds/whaliiwatching
Summary: Scrooge is short. Donald has fun. Glomgold is family.These are the ingredients chosen to make the perfect fluff fest.(or, love and teasing go hand in hand.)
Relationships: Donald Duck & Scrooge McDuck, Flintheart Glomgold/Scrooge McDuck
Comments: 20
Kudos: 100





	the perks of being short

**Author's Note:**

> listen,,,,, listen  
> glomscrooge is a good ship and i Will Protect It
> 
> oh also my version of glomgold is weird! like, a fusion of dt17 and comics,, i imagine he looks/acts a bit more like the comics but has the backstory of 17. it's more,, like,, accepting of his pre-flinty south-african self (and therefore would only happen post-canon with a lot of outside help) but he still has something akin to histrionic personality disorder,,, i'm just super bad at writing people like that yknow?? ok anyway thats all i gotta say

The worst thing has happened.

Worse than Magica. Worse than the Moonvasion, worse than losing Della in the first place, worse than losing Donald in the aftermath, worse than every single day he’s run out of nutmeg tea bags and apple pie, worse than all of that combined. 

Scrooge McDuck, richest duck in the world, adventurer and businessduck extraordinaire, is _shorter than his nephew._

Donald holds his uncle’s top hat, grinning giddily, having just been proclaimed taller by Beakley (neither of them mention her several heads on them, though they’re all thinking it, somewhere). Exactly one and a half inches taller. Exactly one and a half inches _too tall._

“It’s nothing,” Scrooge insists for the sake of his dignity. He’s the richest duck in the world! Escaped death by the end of his cane, the stitching of his spats! He can’t be shorter than his puny little nephew! Why, only a moment ago, the duck had been five years old and the tiniest, cutest thing—

“It’s enough,” Donald counters, grin still wild. Despite the situation, Scrooge finds himself warmed by his so— _nephew’s_ happiness. It’s so rare these days to see him anything but worried. He’s too much the Concerned Parent. That’s Scrooge’s job! 

Scrooge stomps his feet. It’s a childish sort of tantrum, but he can’t help it; he’s shorter than Donald and something’s gotta make up for it. “I will not be treated this way! Donnie, _apologize.”_

The sailor only smiles wider at the nickname. “Never! These ducks don’t back down!”

“You’re not supposed to say that outside of rallying speeches,” Scrooge pouts. 

“Aww,” Donald says, and Scrooge knows he’s being cheeky just to aggravate him, “Baby’s first time being a little bit behind.”

“I AM NOT A BABY.” 

“Agree to disagree,” Beakley mutters, flicking on her vacuum again. 

“022, I _will_ fire you.”

“I’d like to see you try, sir.” And she’s gone.

“Bye, Miss Beakley,” Donald calls after her. He’s still smiling. Scrooge loves and hates it.

“I am just as tall as you,” He reinstates, standing as straight (haha) as he can. 

“Can’t you accept it just this once?” Donald pleads jokingly. “I’m finally above you in one respect. _One._ You have everything over me already. Do you really need height to top off the list?”

“Yes,” Scrooge says.

“Well, then, li’l _baby,”_ Donald singsongs, “Hope you learn how to deal.”

\--- 

Scrooge groans into his pillow. “This is the worst.”

“Worse than Magica?” Flintheart says from above him. He’s reading Lin Mirhenda’s _Gmorning, Gnight!_ upside-down and carding his fingers through Scrooge’s hair. 

Scrooge turns and flops onto Flintheart’s stomach, earning a slight _oof_ from his husband. He hides his grin in the stout duck’s beard, darker and thicker than the fake one from years ago. (a lot has changed since years ago. the accent, for another—south african, scrooge has found, is smooth and sweet.) “Yes.”

“Worse than the Moonvasion.” 

“Worse than _everything,”_ Scrooge complains. He doesn’t even think Flintheart knows what he’s groaning about. And to confirm these suspicions—

“Mm. Penny for your thoughts.”

“I’m—”

“And a quarter not to tell me them,” Flintheart finishes, Donald’s cheeky smile reflected in his own.

“Why do all the important drakes in my life hate me,” Scrooge mutters.

“You’ve been cursed, McDuck.”

“I seem to recall that being your fault, _McDuck_ _,”_ Scrooge counters, and Flintheart grows pink under his feathers. Finally, Scrooge has the edge on someone today! He sits up, still half-nestled into his husband’s side, and lays a kiss on his cheek. “Every single _curse me_ coming back to bite me.”

Flintheart’s going visibly red now. It’s so sweet (and a little funny) to see what only a little affection does to him. It sends waves of happiness through Scrooge, which douse out the tang of sadness—no one’s ever shown his husband this much love before. 

“Ah,” Flintheart says when he’s recovered, “My final _final_ scheme, put into effect!”

“I thought that was the wedding,” Scrooge says. “Your final scheme: marry me, unify our fortunes, make us both the richest ducks in the world by a considerable margin.”

“That was only a ploy,” Flintheart says wickedly, but there’s a glint of humor in his eyes. Scrooge loves this joking side (well, he loves every side, but _still)._ “My real final scheme is the buildup of ‘Curse you, McDuck’s attacking at precisely the right moment, which is now!”

“Oh, whatever shall I do?” Scrooge falls onto Flintheart’s stomach again and rolls onto his back, one arm fanning dramatically over his face. _“Eeevil_ sorcerer, tell me the cure, I beg of you!”

Flintheart considers the plea. “One thousand kisses should do the trick.”

“How shall I ever survive!” Scrooge tilts up and meets his husband in one kiss, then trails from Flinty’s beak to his jawline and down his neck. 

The stout duck had frozen, blushing madly under the white. Scrooge adores flustering him. He pulls away from the duck’s neck and flashes a grin at him. “That’s got to be ten already.”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t counting,” Flinty admits honestly. Scrooge laughs and nestles back into his side, flipping the book (gone lax in Flinty’s fingers) right-side-up. 

They read the poems for a while, giggling and making snide comments every so often. Scrooge has nearly forgotten the incident when Flintheart lays the book down and asks, “What happened?”

And, oh, God, he sounds so sincere. Scrooge is used to being heard, used to being the leader, used to being treated like he is—a hardened adventurer. But no one has ever taken the time to let things fall lightly on him. It’s always, _Scrooge, aliens are coming to kill us_ _,_ or _Scrooge, Magica’s back and the kid you invited into your home and heart is being controlled by her,_ or _Scrooge, your beloved nephew was alone on an island for months on end and why didn’t you look for him._ Nobody puts on velvet gloves with him, even when he needs them to. 

Flintheart understands. His family is learning, but Flinty never had to—he understands.

“Donnie’s taller than me,” Scrooge grumbles into his husband’s beard.

“What was that?”

The robe-clad duck lifts his head up. “Donnie’s _taller_ than me. It’s humiliating.”

Flinty laughs. “Scroogie, I’m shorter than you by an entire head.”

“I _know_ _,_ but that’s _different_ _._ Your shortness is _cute._ My shortness is not! My shortness is childish!”

“H-How is it different?” Flintheart asks, voice a little thick from the _cute_ comment. Scrooge takes a moment to savor that, the effect they have on each other. “I don’t see much difference.”

“That’s because you’re my _husband,”_ Scrooge whines. “You’re allowed to think I’m cute. But nobody else. Except strangers watching me on the picture show.”

“Um.”

Scrooge waves it away. “Point is, I’m shorter than Donnie, and I need to find a way to remedy that _immediately._ You’re good at cockamamie schemes. What’ve you got?”

“Can’t just think them up, darling,” Flintheart says, one eyebrow raised. “Takes a minute. Why do you want to be taller, anyway?”

“Because I can’t be shorter than my own son! It goes against the very laws of nature, Flinty, _the very laws!”_

Flintheart does a fist-pump in his mind. (he’s trying to get scrooge to call donald his son more often. it happens sometimes, but it should happen more, is his humble opinion.) 

“Well. I wouldn’t say so, I think.”

“Well, _you_ can say that—”

“Because I’m short, I get it.” Flinty turns a wry look on his husband. “But let me tell you, love, there are perks to being short.”

Scrooge scoffs, but delights in the little nickname. “Like _what.”_

“If a billion pianos fell from the sky, the tall people would die first.”

That provokes a surprised bark of a laugh out of him, the full throaty kind he still isn’t quite used to. It’s pleasant to laugh like this. “Point.”

“And, of course, you’re cute by default,” Flinty says, batting his eyelashes. 

“That’s true.” Scrooge giggles and kisses right above one of his thick eyebrows. It provokes a surprised laugh from Flinty, a closed-eye smile as he accepts the kiss. The shorter duck is so _sweet._ Scrooge would never have guessed years ago. 

“What else is nice about being short?” Scrooge prompts.

Flintheart puts a hand on Scrooge’s chest and looks deep into his eyes, as if about to reveal the darkest secret of existence. _“Leg room.”_

“Oh my _God.”_

“Ex _actly.”_

“What else, what else?” Scrooge pulls himself forward to look at Flinty, chin on his chest and eyes wide. 

Flintheart clears his throat as quietly as he can. Something that sounds suspiciously like _you’re adorable_ leaves his bill, but Scrooge doesn’t comment. “You don’t have to hold the umbrella when it’s raining.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

“You can actually hide under blankets.”

“I’m rich, I can buy blankets the size of the manor,” Scrooge says.

“I’m also rich, and I say you cannot buy a blanket the size of the manor.”

“Killjoy.”

“Spendthrift.”

Scrooge gasps, mock-offended. He pokes Flinty in the chest. “You take that _back.”_

The stout duck shakes his fist at the ceiling, a proud grin stretching over his bill. “Never. These ducks don’t back down!”

And doesn’t that just get him in the heart.

Scrooge ducks his head and hides his watery eyes in Flinty’s side. Warmth tangles through his limbs and chest, filling him with joy and love and contentment. He smiles into his partner’s sweater.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Flinty asks, hand going to pet Scrooge’s whiskers. It’s a comfort technique, something he’d picked up before they were married, something he knows always lifts Scrooge’s spirits. "Should I—is that like, just a blood family thing—"

“No, no, of course not. It's—it's nothing,” Scrooge says, voice cracking. He turns his head enough for Flinty to hear him.“You just—Donnie said the same thing a bit ago, and you—you sounded so much like him, and I. It just made me think. We’re a family. A real, whole family.”

“Of course we are, love,” Flintheart says. “It surprises me too. A lot.”

“I’m sorry,” Scrooge whispers. The years before their relationship run through his mind. The cold, the loneliness Flint must’ve felt, the rivalry that brought them both a respite. 

“Don’t be,” Flintheart says, just as soft. “I love you now. All that stuff before is over.”

Scrooge wraps his arms around his husband and smiles enough for Flintheart to feel it. “I love you too.”

“Perk five of being short: best at cuddling,” Flintheart murmurs, curling toward Scrooge.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” Scrooge says, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> isn't that lovely
> 
> really, we all need and deserve more fluff fics 'round here


End file.
